


Gentlemen of the Road: The Cavern by the Sea

by Frogman128



Category: Gentlemen of the Road - Michael Chabon
Genre: Action/Adventure, Bandits & Outlaws, Companions, Gen, Historical Fantasy, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:39:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29190930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frogman128/pseuds/Frogman128
Summary: After a most ruinous encounter with brigands, Amran and Zelikman come upon a village by the Greek coasts of the Byzantine Empire. There they would find out the horrors that lurked within its eerie customs.
Relationships: Amram (Gentlemen of the Road)/Zelikman (Gentlemen of the Road)
Kudos: 4





	1. On the Misdeeds of Monsters

Her light flickered. She walked deep inside the labyrinthine cavern, illuminated only by the torch given to her by Chieftain Callinicus before she was sent into the pathway to the heavens. It would not take long before the light died out, but she was not afraid. She gripped the rose given to her by the Chieftain’s son, Demetrios, a kind soul trapped in an enormous, hideous shape. It was his holy duty to present the rose of selection to the chosen of the year’s festival, the one carefully picked for the glory of the life beyond, selected by the gods.

The weariness in her head and the blurriness of her sight, both of which had begun to afflict her not long after the sole entrance of the cave had been shut off, were but an afterthought, as were the cries of her elder sister that still rang in her ears. Oh, how her sister screamed for her as the village restrained the poor woman, lest she tainted the blessings given to them by the gods. A pain panged at her heart, but she kept on going regardless. Soon she would ascend and there she would remain, waiting to welcome her sister into the glory of eternity.

On and on she went, despite the weight growing in her head. Was this malady a test of the gods? Was it transcendence taking place? A sign of what was yet to come? She pushed aside these questions as soon as they arose, for they were pointless and heretical. It was trust that brought them out of the brink of ruin and starvation; it was blind faith in the words and guidance of Callinicus-proud envoy of the gods-that made them prosper. Who was she to test the patience of the divine with such foul doubts?

Suddenly, her torch went out and all became dark, ceasing her musings and freezing her on the spot. She tightened her hold on the rose and held it close to her heart. Little more she could see beyond the tip of her own nose, but then, against all she knew, the cavern began to glow. A green, blueish light shone dimly throughout the path, leading her into an opening at the very end. Was this it? Was this the sign she had been waiting for?

A chamber welcomed her. There she stood in awe at the glow and the clean-cut formations of the stone. Her wonderment lasted until a loud cracking noise beneath her feet caught her attention. Piles of human bones cluttered the cavern floor, sending her into a shock so potent that not a sound came out of her. Horrified, she stumbled and retreated to the entrance of the chamber, only to be stopped due to a wall of hardened flesh that threw her to the bone-ridden floor.

As she looked up, the nightmare loomed over her. It was a grotesque shape, that of an enormous man, in all but the face, where instead the gnarled visage of a horned creature stared lifelessly, piercing at her very soul. Her screams finally came out, but they could not be heard, for they were deafened by the roar of the beast.

_The Coasts of Greece 1 Year Later_

They were surrounded at all flanks, ambushed beneath the sweltering coastal sun, their mounts neighed in protest. Half a dozen mounted brigands covered in cloaks and garbs, wielding an array of lances, axes, and swords, glared and cackled at them, as a pack of ravenous hyenas would their prey. Unlike a wounded zebra, the two encircled men were notably undeterred.

“You ready, old friend?” asked Amram, the hulking, ax-wielding Abyssinian, who rode atop a steed of the finest quality (as its former owner proudly and constantly displayed, before it was promptly stolen under his nose). He gave his trusty weapon a couple of testing swings, a weapon that, if translated roughly to the modern tongue, would be known nowadays as _defiler of your mother_.

“Whenever you are,” responded Zelikman the lithe, though no less dangerous hat-wearing Frank, as he too brandished his signature weapon, a bloodletting lancet, forged to order by the maker of his family’s rabbi-physician instruments. A most unusual choice for those ignorant of the duo’s escapades, but an effective one nonetheless.

Undaunted, the two waited, openly welcoming the first move from the brigands with almost taunting glee, and to no one's surprise, the ruffians took the bait.

Taking advantage of their assailant’s brutish attacks, the duo prepared their respective strikes, along with a maneuvering pull of the reins, should they need to move their prized steeds out of harm’s way. Masterful in execution they were indeed, but what would happen next not even they could have anticipated.

With strength and resilience not of this world, as if parrying sticks wielded by rowdy children, the brigands pushed Amram and Zelikman off their horses and flung them to the sands of the road. Two of the brigands then grabbed each of the duo’s mounts by the reins and galloped off, forcing the stallions to follow, due to the brigand’s unnatural might.

As for the remaining scoundrels, they continued to grin and mock Amram and Zelikman, who had just risen from the sands and unsurely assumed their battle stances, still stupefied by what had just transpired.

Releasing a guttural roar, the brigands continued their horseback assault, each one delivering a devastating blow that both Amram and Zelikman could only dodge by a hair's breadth, in the fear that a parry would not only break their weapons but the bones of their hands as well. The one-sided skirmish went on for less than a minute for the duo, ignorant of their surroundings in the effort to survive, was pushed back to the edge of the seaside cliff and in their last, weary attempt to evade the bone-rattling strikes, tripped and fell into the ocean below.

At least, that was what the brigands thought as they galloped off with joyous laughter. Amram, with his human-yet still very much admirable-strength, had managed to both strike the cliff-face with his ax, managing a makeshift piton and catch Zelikman by the leg in the nick of time, just before the waves crashing on the jagged rocks below could have claimed their lives.

“Amram?” Screamed a dangling Zelikman as he spat out long strands of his own hair, which flowed back and forth with the incessant winds of the coast. He clutched his fluttering hat close to his chest, caring for it as if it were worth far more than his own life.

“What?” Amram grunted.

“So much for being ready!” 


	2. On the Matters of Blatant Skullduggery

Days passed, vultures flew, hunger grew, and the intervals between petty arguments diminished. The duo had little water remaining in their wineskins, and their meals had constituted so far of no more than the occasional coastal lizard, squirrel (all either under or overcooked, due to the lack of proper firewood), and whatever plants Zelikman had assured were safe for human consumption, albeit with slight hesitance, born from the Frank's indifference to the study of botany during his time as a pupil of the medical arts.

Succulents in name only they were, as Amram liked to constantly remind Zelikman, to which the Frank never failed to retort with a biting critique of the Abyssinian’s expertise, on the butchering and preparation of reptile and rodent flesh.

The duo had stuck with traveling through the barren coastline, in the hopes of finding civilization, a possible river mouth, or at the very least a most charitable caravan, for them to either reason with or rob. Naturally, they had found naught but the repeating scenery of rocks, crashing waves, and looming birds of carrion. Delirium and fatigue had begun to claim them. Their bickering screeched a halt as they trudged and stumbled on yet another rising mound of sand and sea-stone. Amram found it in him to break the deathly silence.

“So?” 

Zelikman groaned. “So what?”

“So…who do you think they were?”

Zelikman huffed. “Does it matter, Amram? Does it really? I’d much rather eat another of your medium-rare carrion crawlers than to recall _that_ fiasco…”

“You think they were barbarians perhaps? Berserkers of legend?”

Zelikman laughed exaggeratedly. “Berserkers? Of Legend? Oh my dear friend, my most dear culinary envoy of the almighty himself! You truly are starting to lose it are you not? Euphoria and adrenaline, both mere mundane explanations for the supposed feats of the supernatural! Blame me you can, Amram, for the inaccurate taste of succulents, but madness-inducing in any way they most certainly are not! Perhaps your state of mind is best attributed to whatever poisonous, _undercooked_ glands _your_ dishes carried!” 

Amram sighed and wiped the sweat off his brow. “Brutes are a dime a dozen, Zelikman, I know that much. We have both fought the northerners before, lest you have forgotten. It is the strength of those six raiders that still haunts me. Not even the mightiest of Vikings-with all their euphoria and adrenaline-could have fought back against the monstrousness of those blows.”

“Bah, blabber as much as you want! _My_ point still stands, atop the hill of utmost objectivity and by stand I mean ridiculing us, like the forces that be ridicule the poor fool, lamenting himself about the mishaps of romance and taxes!”

“…What? Are you alright?”

“Just. Pea. Chee!” Zelikman spun back, screamed, and stomped all over the sand, his enraged leaps synched to his every syllable. His ruckus was such, that the overhead flock of vultures-most wisely-took more distance, “Have you a problem with me, huh? You bunch of feathered-brained flesh-feeders! Want my liver on a silver platter, do you not? Well, you better fly down here and get it!”

Ignoring the fit, Amram continued to the top of the hill, where he came to a sudden halt.

“… Zelikman.”

Zelikman continued to blather about, stumbling, swinging his lancet around erratically and shouting a multitude of colorful profanities in his mother tongue, all directed towards the far-off flock of carrion birds, whom likely-and understandably, if so-deemed the Frank not worth the trouble and flew off into the horizon.

“Zelikman!”

“What! Can you not see that I am asserting my dominance over the avian species?” Zelikman spat, never taking his sights off the fleeing birds.

With a grunt, Amram grabbed Zelikman by the shoulder and spun the Frank with the ease that one would a spinning wheel.

Zelikman groaned and shook his head. Once he regained what little remained of his composure, he shot Amram a look of pure spite. “What is wrong with you? Is it not enough that you keep feeding me those loathsome, stringy, _undercooked_ -” the words died in his mouth. Not far from where they stood, was a seaside village, full of people, sound, life, and most importantly-Zelikman thought-sustenance, oh sweet, sweet sustenance!

“Oh dear me, oh heavens above! Do you see that my good fellow? We’re saved, saved I tell you!”

“Aye, that I most certainly can, old friend.”

“Praise the Lord above! My eternal gratitude is yours and yours alone! No longer must we suffer from the torture of this eternal sand-covered hell, nor of the horrendous, inadequate preparation of _undercooked_ -“

Amram shoved Zelikman, who fell and rolled all the way down the slope of the hill, coughing up bits of sand as he rolled on by. Never once did the Frank let go of his hat.

* * *

“You’re not yourself when you’re hungry,” said Amram, as he ate the last strand of meat from his poultry leg and tossed it away.

Zelikman huffed, licked the chicken bone clean, and threw it aside. “I already begged for your forgiveness, thrice. Will a fourth time finally please you?”

“No, I am quite satisfied, thank you very much,” Amram grinned mischievously.

“Oh, believe me, I could not tell,” Zelikman sighed and shook off the remaining sand off his hat. “I’m not even sure why your mood is that of such high spirits anyway. We wasted our only spare coin buying those chicken legs and refilling our wineskins. We are not making it all the way to Spain like this! Why my stomach still rumbles!”

Amram chuckled and bumped the Frank’s shoulder. “We are at a village, Zelikman. A village in the middle of a festival it seems, surely we can make do,” he winked. “Given the context, all we need to do is find a stable, make a slight diversion if needed, and swipe two of their finest steeds while no one is looking! We will be galloping off into the sunset before you know it, my friend, bellies full and heart's content!”

“Amram.”

“Yes?”

“I do not think this is a village we should attempt to steal from,” Zelikman muttered under his breath.

Amram raised a brow and gave a look around. Zelikman’s worries would have been understandable to the average person, given the unusually large amount of people and children going on about their everyday lives, that is, with almost everyone wearing beady-eyed animal masks and necklaces made entirely of roses. The Abyssinian shrugged, not that he was dense or ignorant to the eccentricities of the village folk; he simply did not care.

“Different customs, my paranoid companion!” Amram gave Zelikman a friendly slap in the back. “So what if they like to celebrate the wondrous gifts of nature in their own manner? It is nothing to be alarmed of.”

Zelikman scoffed. “Paganism, Amram. This entire pit reeks of it; I feel it in the depths of my very soul.”

“Zelikman, how many times must we rehearse this sullen topic? Pagans are not cannibalistic savages and trust me, I have had my fair share of run-ins with those. These good folks are merely…well…different.”

Zelikman glared at Amram as if the Abyssinian had grown a second head. “You’ve heard the tales, Amram, we all have. Stories of such macabre tinges do not spread like the plague for naught…oh no…oh no you don’t, don’t you dare give me that look, you know that I am right!”

“Of course you are, Zelikman, you always are,” Amram responded monotonously.

Zelikman took in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear in the name of the Almighty, your carefreeness shall be the end of us both.”

“Blasphemous of you to swear in vain, Zelikman, and in his name no less,” Amram smirked again.

“Blasphemous? Blasphemy is spread all over this forsaken place, in case you haven’t noticed,” Zelikman whispered harshly, as he shifted his eyes to peer at the crowd, “who knows what kind of mischief hides behind those mask-wearing faces, or those suspiciously accessible poultry prices, but no, oh no, it is I who must be deemed the blasphemous one! It is I, who is always in the wrong, aren’t I-”

Zelikman, fully absorbed by his own rant, had bumped into something that threw him to the dirt floor. That something he soon found out, as it loomed over him, was a someone; a someone so large that made his hulking Abyssinian companion look lithe in comparison, and had it not been for that someone’s kind, almost child-like eyes, he would have screamed at the appearance of a rose-covered demon, standing beneath the rays of daylight. 

“Oh, I s-sorry, s-stranger,” an unfittingly light voice came out of the colossus, of whom three masked children had made his back their personal playground. He did not appear to mind. “P-please help you, let me.”

What the giant had meant to be but a slight tug pulled Zelikman up like a rag doll. The Frank stood quiet for a moment, caressing his wrist until the surprise settled and the words finally came to him. “I…t-thank you, kind sir.”

The giant, whose mask was too small and instead fashioned as a horned hat, gave the duo a bashful, crooked smile. “No thank need, me…d-de…dem…d-dem-” Zelikman was about to scream until someone else did so for him.

“Demetrios!” cried the headstrong voice of a young woman.

The giggling children playing atop the giant gasped and fled as fast as they could. Then, bursting through the crowd, appeared a bronze-skinned, fierce-eyed woman, such features compensating for the litheness of her frame. Her animal mask hung tied to her hip. Both Amram and Zelikman could not help but notice the stares of the village folk, who, even while masked, made it quite clear that they observed the woman with much interest.

“Ariadne!” Demetrios called out with adoration and near-perfect diction.

Ariadne stomped her foot on the ground. “No, Demetrios! How many times must I tell you? You cannot allow people to treat you so, not even children!”

Demetrios lowered his head in shame and whimpered. “I…me sorry, me sorry so, Ariadne.”

“It is not I who you should ask for forgiveness, Demetrios,” she lowered her tone and caressed Demetrio’s shoulder, “it is not anyone’s forgiveness you should seek, you are your own and no one but your own, you know that.”

“I-I…yes, I know, m-me s-s-”

At that moment, the sound of galloping came about and the masked folk who had begun to surround the duo, the woman and the giant, murmured quietly and dispersed, as to make way for seven mounted men. The riders were clad in roses and ceremonial clothing, and all wore the masks of horned animals. Amram and Zelikman felt a pit in their stomachs, but this was not because of the oneiric quality of the veils, nor the open presence of weapons in the rider’s scabbards, that was not nearly alarming enough. It was the horses, or rather, _their_ two stolen horses, standing right there before them.

One of the riders, the upfront one riding Amram’s former mount, removed his mask, revealing a mature, clean-shaven face beneath, bronze-skinned like the rest of the villagers. The crowd ceased to whisper. “Ariadne my dear, must you scare our visitors?”

Ariadne stood rigid and delivered an even more rigid bow towards the man. “Forgive me, Chieftain Callanicus,” she then bowed, though not as harshly, at Amran and Zelikman. “I meant no disrespect.”

“Y-yes, f-father, sh-” Demetrios tried to intervene, however, the Chieftain’s mere glance, near imperceptible to all but himself and the watchful eyes of Ariadne, Amram, and Zelikman, forbade him from doing so. Flinching, he lowered his head and his lip quivered.

Callanicus smiled. A picture of warmth and reassurance, a perfect replica of what a father should express to his young. “Demetrios, my dear boy, I am not reprimanding Ariadne, far from it,” Callanicus looked around the crowd, infecting the masked folk with his smile. “This is a time of celebration, a time of renewal for the vows of our faith! Your problems and insecurities, mundane as they may be, should be of my utmost importance. If not one of my children is satisfied by the blessings of our gods above, then it is I who is in jeopardy, for it is _my_ duty to oversee the wellbeing of you all, my children, as the voice of those most high.”

The crowd murmured incomprehensible words of approval in response to the Chieftain’s words, as did Demetrios and Ariadne, albeit in a muted manner. Amram and Zelikman remained quiet, doing the best they could to keep their shock contained.

Callanicus smiled at the duo. “Do forgive me for the scene, strangers.”

“Oh no, we were not bothered at all, good sir, in fact, we’re just passing by!” Zelikman responded all too quickly. Amram cursed inwardly at his friend’s franticness and nodded at a snail’s pace.

The Chieftain’s amiable visage did not as much as blink. “Be that as it may, I must find it that you are both well treated, for your stay!”

Zelikman’s eyes bulged for the fraction of a second. “But-”

“It is of no issue for me,” Callanicus waved off Zelikman’s rebuttal with a fatherly tone. “I can see that you are travelers of some experience and wit. I too was a wanderer once, far too long ago now it seems,” he chuckled, “oh, how does time pass one by. I know what it is like, my dear drifters. Not every village is a picture of welcoming itself, like the one that is now before you. Allow me then to put you in the care of our lovely Ariadne. She will be quite overjoyed to share her lodgings and sustenance with you, for as long as you deem it necessary.”

Amram and Zelikman turned to look at Ariadne, and there they noticed, for her presence alone was enough to obscure it at first glance, that the litheness of her body extended to her cheeks and haggard eyes. In spite of it all, however, she stood strong, as if daring the ever-amiable Chieftain.

“That I will, Chieftain Callinicus,” she gave another bow.

Callinicus blinked twice and smirked. “Demetrios!”

“Y-yes, father?” Demetrios asked.

Without a word and yet another scathing glance directed at Demetrios, who blubbered and whimpered in response, Callinicus donned his mask and saluted his devout village folk. With the wave of cheers and adoration from the crowd, the Chieftain and his men galloped away, leaving poor, lumbering Demetrios lagging behind in the dust trail of the steeds.

Amram and Zelikman looked at one another, and then back at Ariadne. The lithe woman was still, as rigid as she had been when she had stood off against Callinicus. She stared forlornly at Demetrios, watching him desperately try to keep up with the horseback men. Then, as abruptly as she had appeared, she spun on her heel, gave the Frank and the Abyssinian a look of indifferent compliance, and made her way out of the village square. Amram and Zelikman followed.

“Zelikman,” Amram said lowly.

Zelikman understood perfectly from the inflection of his companion alone. “Tell me, Amram.”

Amram glanced towards Zelikman’s hidden lancet and his own concealed ax. The Frank nodded gravely. The Abyssinian smiled.

“There is work to be done.”


	3. On the Matters of Hope in Where Darkness Lies

Night fell. Amram and Zelikman were sitting down at the table in the middle of Ariadne’s humble, one-floor abode, near the fireplace, talking and discussing. Their dinner plates were mostly full, for in their consideration very little they had touched, despite the meagerness of supper.

Ariadne herself was sitting beside the table, her tired gaze fixated on the embers, the crackling wood, and the bouquet of roses resting by the side. Of the duo, she paid no mind.

“I am afraid, however, that you are forgetting something, dear Amram,” said Zelikman. “If the numbers add up correctly, then those other six horsemen might just have been the same ones who made fools out of us back at that _blasted_ desert.”

Amram nodded. “I concur with your logic, Zelikman, but I failed to detect any signs of recognition from the masked riders back at the village square. Their covered faces wandered on and about as if on a daydream and never once did they ever so much as give us a passing glance, less so the Chieftain, whom eccentric as he may have been, was genuine in his hospitality.”

Zelikman let out a mock laugh. “Must you be ever so blindly optimistic, my friend?” he scoffed. “Hospitality? The man is a lunatic! Hospitality, hah! Why he’s no more than the pagan ringleader of a band of bestial men!”

“So you _do_ consider their strength unnatural?” Amram showed the hint of a smirk.

Zelikman rolled his eyes. “A form of expression, Amram, nothing more. Beast-like men, brutes, berserkers, perhaps even our own overconfidence getting the best of us in the heat of the moment. That is yet another possible explanation if you insist on arguing about it,” he sighed. “Regardless, _my_ point still stands. It is best we leave sooner rather than later, lest we continue to test our fortune like a pair of death-seeking gamblers.”

“…The Keepers of the Faith,” Ariadne whispered, without taking her unblinking eyes away from the fire.

Zelikman raised a brow. “Oh, she speaks at last!”

Amram shot him a chiding look and softened as he turned at Ariadne. “The Keepers of the Faith, you say?”

“The arms of Callinicus, the extension of his…” she held her words. “The gods will…”

Zelikman scoffed. “Most informative.”

“I must beg your pardon, miss. My companion is not in the best of moods when he is forced to suppress his hunger,” Amram shot an accusing look at Zelikman, who shrugged.

Ariadne said nothing. She picked one of the roses from the bouquet and stared at it, as if in trance.

Ignoring Zelikman’s visible frustration, Amram took in a breath. “Forgive me, for I am not one to pry, but it does not appear to me that the prosperity of the village extends equally to all of its inhabitants, or am I in the wrong?”

She lowered the rose and her eyes returned to the flame. “No, it does not.”

“Well, if you would allow me some words verging on heresy, then I would be remiss to say that it is wholly unfair of your deity’s blessings to leave you in squalor, all the while the rest of the village lives in a dignified manner by comparison.”

Suddenly, Ariadne stood up, her haggard eyes fierce. “What do you know about fair?”

“I was merely speaking my mind, Miss Ariadne, nothing more,” Amram responded calmly.

“Do not speak of what you do not know, for you do not know what it is like,” Ariadne seethed.

Zelikman harrumphed. “Well, what is it then? You seem to have quite the tale bottled up.”

Amram had little time to admonish his companion. Ariadne had already begun.

“How could _you_ know? To live your whole life on the brink of starvation, with a dry, mocking sea that dares not give but meager spoils, to see your father and mother perish to the fickle whims of hunger and banditry. To be left _alone_ , caring for your sibling, the last of your blood!”

She paused, her face growing conflicted and nostalgic. “And then, salvation. A man, his poor, cursed child, and his loyal followers, coming forth to breathe new life upon your dying village. I still remember when they first arrived. I was but a child, carrying a newborn in her arms and he, a light that showed us that we, against all thought and known, we’re not forsaken...” She stared at the rose in her hands, the ghost of a smile painted on her face.

“Years went on, and the blessings of the gods began to bear their fruit. No longer were we at the mercy of nature’s whims, with Callinicus and his Keepers delivering food and riches for us all. No longer were we taken advantage of by scoundrels, for the Keepers drove them away with their great strength, a blessing of those most high. We had risen from the ashes and grown anew, a true miracle of the gods.” The smile disappeared. Tears welled in her eyes.

“However, the good graces of the gods are not without repay. Every year we hold our festival, a symbol of our gratitude, a showing to the heavens that we are deeply connected and eternally faithful. Such must be our devotion that we would not hesitate to send our young, prematurely into the…glorious path to eternity.”

Amram and Zelikman shared a look of mutual concern during Ariadne’s pause but said nothing. Ariadne’s lip tightened, as did her grasp on the rose.

“No matter the blind cheers and smiles of my people, nor the blessings that kept us safe could do away with my greatest fear. It ate me away little by little, a paranoid thought that creeps and grows, and along with it, grew my disillusion on the man whom everyone else called savior. What had been looks of warmth soon became something else, betraying the piousness and celibacy he so flounders and is praised for. Where everyone else saw a light, I soon discovered nothing more than a fiend. How a kind soul like Demetrios came to be from someone such as _he_ ; I do not know, but I am no stranger to the ironies of fate.”

Tears dripped from her cheeks. The rose had little petals remaining.

“Years passed, and his grip on it all grew ever so stronger, and I could do nothing. To reject his advances meant less of the blessings, and no one would believe me, not even Demetrios, but all the hunger of the world meant little to me if she was to have all she needed,” she smiled and sobbed. “She was my world, blinded by the faith as she may have been, she was everything to me. No matter how much I suffered, she was the one reason that kept me tethered to this earth along with Demetrios, and _he_ took her from me.” She threw the rose into the fire and fell to her knees, tears flowing.

“No one would believe me, no one would come to my aid, and _he_ knew that, perfectly well. What odds were there after years of me rejecting such pious lust and advances?” she growled and whimpered. “I-I saw her leaving my grasp out of her own volition. I saw no fear or regret in her eyes as she entered that accursed cave. No matter how hard I screamed, she never looked back, not even when they sealed her in…and there _he_ was; right there amidst the cheers and smiles, looking at me, basking in it all.”

Ariadne huddled up to her knees in front of the crackling fire and sobbed uncontrollably. Zelikman gave Amram a thoughtful look and without a word, the Abyssinian stood up and went over to the crying woman.

“…We know what it's like,” said Amram, his tone soft but resolute. “We are no strangers to lose and injustice. Such is the nature of life to give us an uneven ensemble of joys and tragedies, but it is also in the nature of life to give one a fighting chance, no matter the odds.”

Suddenly, Ariadne rose and faced the Abyssinian with an intense glare.

“Did you not hear? What point is there to try the odds, when the gods themselves are against you? How can you convince me of fighting in a world where fate blesses men with holy might, while their leader sends children to the afterlife, out of sickening whims and hurt pride?” she shouted as teardrops fell from her face to the floor. “If…if it weren’t for Demetrios, I would have already walked out to die in that wasteland!”

Amram placed his hands on her shoulders. Ariadne flinched, but Amram’s kind eyes, even in her hurt and betrayed state; she knew to be genuine, for, even after all these years, they reminded her of her own father’s.

“Then you can _still_ do something about it,” said Amram with a kind smile.

Ariadne’s words died in her mouth. “But…but…how? How can I stand up to them? You have seen what they are capable of, what am I to do?”

“Amram?” Zelikman asked casually.

Amram sighed deeply and let go of Ariadne. “Yes, Zelikman?”

“How badly were we outnumbered during our robbery of that pompous Arabic horse breeder? Was it nineteen men to our modest two? I cannot seem to recall.”

Amram pondered for a moment. “Twenty to two it was, my friend,” he chuckled, “not counting the scoundrel that betrayed and led us right into the lion’s den. Why the tiny man had fled as soon as the first mercenary burst open like an overflowing wineskin.”

Zelikman beamed. “Not that we can blame the poor fellow! Such was the magnitude of your swipe that half the sell-swords fled in terror, and those that remained were shivering so that they tripped and fell over their own blades,” he cackled and wiped a tear. “Amusing certainly, but rather anticlimactic in all honesty. For all the Arab’s wealth, one would have thought he could have at least hired more experienced men to protect his precious stock.”

“Indeed, very fortunate of him that we only had enough time to take away his prized duo and not the entire stable, was he not Zelik…” Amram, realizing the crudeness of his and Zelikman’s nostalgia turned back and saw an open-mouthed Ariadne. Most of her tears had dried away, and in place of her sadness was now shock.

“Oh, I must beg your pardon, Miss Ariadne. Our sense of humor can verge on a tinge most… unusual for those uninitiated in the art of war and theft,” Amram apologized.

Zelikman nodded. “An acquired taste in hilarity indeed, mostly in retrospect.”

Amram glared at his companion but Ariadne’s mumblings brought back his attention.

“I…I…but…” muttered Ariadne, before shaking her head. “It matters not. Even if the far reaches of your adventures were to extend to the robbery of the vaults of the emperor himself, pit against a hundred of his loyal guards, it would still matter not. The Keepers are blessed by the very gods…or whatever it is that lends their power to them. They are beyond the feats of mere fighting men and thieves, far beyond the likes of me.”

“A surprising amount of faith _you_ hold onto these fellows it seems, ironic do you not agree?” Zelikman remarked, earning a look of disbelief from Amram and one of spite from Ariadne.

“Must you mock me so?” spat Ariadne. 

Zelikman raised his hands in a calming gesture. “I am merely a man of sharp wit-”

“Then keep it to yourself!” Ariadne shouted.

“Manners, dear, I trust even your pagan teachings uphold them in some regard, at the very least…,” Zelikman groaned, “oh fine, I beg forgiveness for my insolence, Miss Ariadne. There! Can you now cease that ridiculous look of yours, Amram?”

Ariadne looked at Amram who kindly smiled at her and nodded. “Of course, Zelikman, you can now proceed.”

Zelikman huffed. “Anyway…where was I?” 

“Your wit,” Amram murmured.

Zelikman smirked and thanked him with a curt bow. “Of course! Well, “blessed” as your “keepers” maybe, Miss Ariadne, they are still flesh and blood, for no matter how far in wood a man may cleave his blade, the hardened flesh falls to the ground just like any other, or are elephants, the mightiest and most majestic of all living creatures, completely impervious to the cold blade of steel?” 

Immersed in thought, Ariadne lowered her head. “I…do suppose you make a point, but regardless, how am I supposed to do anything about it all? I am not nearly strong or agile enough to make a change through force alone, nor do my words hold any sway with the rest of the village,” Her face grew forlorn. “I am no hero; that you should know well by now. Perhaps it is best you take whatever it is you want and let me be, I do not mind skipping meals as you can see. Who knows? Maybe it is time I doubt no longer, and drift off into the desert…maybe then will I finally see her again.”

Amram frowned and gave Ariadne a reassuring pat on her shoulder. “For someone so young, you place far too much pressure on yourself. Do you earnestly believe we would be _half_ as prolific in our capers, were we to journey instead as solitary brigands?”

Zelikman huffed. “A preposterous thought,” he winked at Ariadne, “he cannot live without me.” “The feeling is mutual,” Amram shot back.

Ariadne blinked. “Are you saying that…you would help me?”

“We have been implying that quite strongly for some time now, dear, and we do have some unfinished business ourselves here as well, so the added weight of an altruistic act is but a pleasant byproduct, a mere coincidence brought upon-”

“We will,” said Amram, interrupting Zelikman’s wit. Zelikman grunted.

Ariadne’s eyes flashed with the hope she had long believed dead, ever since the moment her sister disappeared forever, inside the depths of that accursed cave. However, it flickered and waned as soon as it had returned. “…But-”

Zelikman stood up, sharply interrupting Ariadne’s rebuttal. “Listen to me, my dear. In this world, there are two kinds of people. Those that do, and those that do not, there are no in-betweens. Harsh is the way and though it is not something we can hope to change, we can either suffer from or work around it. Now, tell me, what sort are you? Are you one which lets others run over, or are you one that is willing to _fight_ back?”

Ariadne said nothing, taken aback by Zelikman’s words. Moments passed as the Frank and the Abyssinian let the woman’s troubled thoughts simmer. She turned around, sat down on the floor, and gazed towards the fireplace and the bouquet of roses lying beside it. The hut became silent, with nothing but the crackling sound of the flames filling the meager interiors.

Then, Ariadne raised herself. “So be it,” she said with a resolute tone.

Amram grinned and gave Zelikman a friendly bump on the shoulder. “Quite the spokesman you were just now. Who knew you had it in you to be capable of such reassuring speech? If only you made it more of a habit rather than an oddity, perhaps then we would not have so many a trifles, born of your sharp tongue.”

Zelikman pinched the bridge of his nose and sat down. “Do not test your good fortune, Amram; we are already pushing it far too much as it is, with this little escapade of ours…”

“Come now, Zelikman, you said it yourself. Powerful yes, but no more than mere flesh and blood in the end. These so-called Keepers are nothing some amount of planning, subterfuge, trickery, and an underhanded attack or two cannot solve, given the right circumstances,” Amram gave Ariadne a mischievous yet kind look.

Ariadne was puzzled. “Circumstances?”

“You have lived here for most of your life, have you not?” Asked Amram.

“Yes?”

“And how long have we before your village’s festival?”

“…A week from now.”

Amram smiled and looked at Zelikman. “Speaking of good fortune.”

Zelikman rolled his eyes. “I keep telling you, we _will_ die at this rate, it is only a matter of time.”

“Always the bright-eyed, eh Zelikman?” said Amram. “No matter, if it is fortune’s will to shine brightly upon us, then who are we to spurn its blessings? Or is chance itself yet another vile, pagan deity we must beware of?”

“Whatever is it that you plan to do?” Said Ariadne, interrupting Zelikman before he could reply.

Amram clapped his hands. “Take back what we rightfully stole, steal whatever other riches we may come across, and give a wondrous parting gift to this “grand savior” your people love to hold in such high regard.”

“That is of course if we do not perish trying,” Zelikman reiterated.

Amram chuckled and looked at Ariadne. “You see, death is no stranger to us. When you fear not the worst, then all sorts of paths and possibilities show themselves, to those boldest and brave.”

Ariadne blinked twice as if having second thoughts about the whole endeavor. She then squinted her eyes with light suspicion.

“Who are you really?”

Amram and Zelikman shared a look and smiled knowingly. In a pair of swift movements, the Frank and the Abyssinian revealed their concealed weapons, ax and lancet, and placed them over the table, as casually as one would a set of kitchen silverware.

Ariadne, her mouth agape in disbelief, could only stutter as she attempted to explain to herself how such items could have remained hidden for so long, in the light of day no less, for not a pair of eyes in the entire village had raised hand nor brow at the duo. In response to her mumblings, however, she received only one response, told in unison.

“But a pair of swindlers!”


	4. On the Trails of Trust and Treason

It took Ariadne a fair while to come to terms with her situation. Many times did she try to convince Amram and Zelikman that all their planning, countermeasures, and guile would be meaningless against Callinicus and his Keepers. She insisted that they instead take their hopeful outlooks on life, whatever provisions she would happily provide, and run off into the distance, like the wild pair of souls they were, but her pleads fell into deaf ears.

Soon, however, Ariadne found herself immersed in the duos back and forth, giving pointers herself about the Chieftain’s home and the guards sleeping schedules. Her disbelief only grew, when she-against all her better judgment-acceded to go about her days near the Chieftain’s manse, using her seeming normality to scrutinize its blind spots, points of entry, and the exact positioning of the guards, as per Amram and Zelikman’s instructions.

A spark had ignited inside her, one she had long thought burnt out, and with every day that flew by, with every bit of information she gathered, recounted, and celebrated upon, the flame grew and grew, until the village festival was now but a night away.

Demetrios, through the order of his father and not the gods, as Ariadne often needed to convince herself, had given the rose of selection the day before to a young girl. That moment, still living in her memory as she sat down, alone at her table, waiting, filled her with a sense of disgust and dread.

The young girl, her family, and those around them had been overjoyed by the god’s good graces. All were of course, but Ariadne. Of her distaste, she gave clear signs, for Callinicus had been there, ever-present amongst the crowd. Had she pretended otherwise, with a showing of submission, not only would she have drawn suspicion from the attentive Chieftain, but she would also have been untrue to herself.

This last defiance, one she believed that Callinicus so foolishly thought to be nothing more than the resilience of a broken woman, was, in reality, defiance as true as it was a guise; a dangling piece of bait that the Chieftain gladly reveled in. However, of this act of righteous treachery she felt no pride, for Demetrio’s eyes, ever kind, still flashed in her mind and panged at her heart.

Every uplifting conversation with the gentle giant, days before and years long past, every gesture of kindness he had shown her, it all came back as she sat there, waiting. Amram, comprehensive as he was, knew there could be no telling of their plans to the gentle giant and had made it very clear to her from the beginning. Ariadne, understandably, had tried to reason with the Abyssinian, to no avail. Demetrios, she knew full well, would not fathom the idea of betraying his father’s ideals, heaven forbid he partake in the man’s murder. 

Was she selfish, for all of this? Enclosed by the walls of a home, that was now all but a prison, she could not find an answer; nor did she try to, she could only wait. Amram and Zelikman had left at sundown and told her to remain there, to wait for their knocking on her door. At that moment then, she would know, it would all be over and she could finally move on.

* * *

The infiltration of the Chieftain’s manse had-so far-been a resounding success. Amram and Zelikman used every bit of Ariadne’s reconnaissance to a masterful degree. They took advantage of every blind spot, took account of every guard roaming about, and soundlessly made their way inside the Chieftain’s opulent abode, through one of the backdoors. All thanks to Zelikman swiping a dangling set of keys, from one of the volunteer town guards, with his respectable pick-pocketing skills.

Now halfway through the manor, and knowing that all six of the Keepers patrolled outside, along with the rest of the town guards, the Frank and the Abyssinian could only feel a palpable sense of incoming catharsis, waiting for them on the topmost floor, in the Chieftain’s living quarters.

One clean blow on the sleeping Chieftain, a quick pass through the stables to recover their robbed steeds-along with whatever hand-sized riches they could snatch-and they would be all set and ready to leave the village behind. That is, with the newest addition to their entourage of thieves riding along with them.

In fact, so at ease was Amram about the whole thing; that he found it prudent enough to chit chat, as they carefully made their way through the many hallways and stairs.

“An ostentatious fellow this Callinicus is, pity he does not seem to invest much on the quality of his night patrol,” Amram whispered.

Zelikman glared back at him for a moment. “Quiet, will you? Do you want the Keepers to swarm us in an enclosed space?” he whispered harshly.

“You exaggerate, Zelikman. We are nigh-phantoms amidst such mediocre measures of security.”

“Indeed, Amram. We are stealthy apparitions beyond the limits of human comprehension! Truly are we, beyond the possibility, no, beyond the very concepts of failure and capture!” Zelikman sarcastically replied.

“I am merely trying to liven the mood, Zelikman. Must you always worry yourself so?”

Zelikman sighed. “Let us simply gut this lunatic in his sleep and be done with it. This place is far too disturbing for my liking.”

Amram gazed around the paintings of Greek gods, titans, and monsters covering the walls, illuminated by the dim moonlight coming from the windows.

“Is Greek memorabilia not of your liking Zelikman? I find it of a most charming quality myself. Such clever use of black and orange contrast is not without praise.” 

Zelikman scoffed. “Relics of a bygone era, my friend. No doubt this ritualistic figurehead scourged, stitched up, and molded whatever pagan novelty of his from these dusty myths, that or he’s merely one with a dubious taste in the arts.”

Amram clutched his chest in mock offense. “You wound me, Zelikman. However, I do suppose he might have far too strong a fascination for the ancient periods. Some variety would do far from harming his décor.”

“We are not here to criticize the man’s tastes, Amram. We are here to _kill_ him.”

Amram nodded. “Shame we will only be able to backstab whatever Keeper is unlucky enough to stand in our way as we leave. As incompetent as guards as they may be, I do suppose the sight of someone sleeping over a maroon pool is noteworthy enough for alarm,” he shrugged. “But alas, what is might without a leader? They shall all be no more than overfed, headless chickens running about, _once_ Callinicus is dealt with.”

Zelikman let out a faint chuckle. “Good analogy,” but his expression turned sour. “Though I must admit, I do regret that we have to leave his son behind. Appearances and worship of dubious idols aside, the young man is of genuine heart and soul. That you cannot deny.”

Amram patted Zelikman on the back. “You know how it is. There is no horse strong enough to carry Demetrios, nor are there arguments that will tear through lifelong years of obedience and worship, regardless of his affections for young Ariadne.”

“Still, to live beneath your father’s manor like some sort of animal. To suffer such treatment for as long as you can even remember. What sort of life is that, Amram?”

Amram smiled. “The kindness of your heart is a rare sight, Zelikman, and one I most treasure,” he sighed. “But you must remember, we are not miracle makers, we are thieves, and the most we can do is give the man above these stairs his well-deserved comeuppance. At the very least, no longer will Demetrios feel the man’s iron grip on his life. Then, maybe then, will he finally become a man of his own will and seek the world beyond.”

“Aye, that I hope, dear friend,” Zelikman stopped as he reached the end of the staircase to the topmost floor, his eyes widening. “Ghastly taste in art, I tell you.”

Amram stared at the large painting on the wall with a mock appraisal. “Ghastly is an unjust assessment if I do say so myself, there is, however, a disparate amount of effort given to the details of the face, compared to the rest of the anatomy. Aside from that, it's a well-done rendition of the Minotaur myth, if leaning a tad too heavily on the gruesome aspect of its acts.”

“A tad would be an understatement,” Zelikman grimaced.

Amram rolled his eyes. “For the love of God, Zelikman. It’s just a painting.”

The sound of creaking wood came from the bottom of the staircase and with it, a pair of hasty steps.

Fueled by adrenaline, Amram and Zelikman hid as fast as they could on the darkened side of the hallway, farthest away from the moonlight. There the duo waited; ax and lancet in hand, for seconds that dragged on like grueling hours, as little by little the footsteps grew louder.

Then, it appeared. It was one of the Keepers, the man’s silhouette a dark, foreboding shape. The duos grips on their weapons tightened, as the shape stood in front of the Minotaur painting, immobile and mere steps away. Both were ready to strike, to pay back in kind, but before they could have engaged in their much-desired ambush, they noticed something strange, so much so that they could not help but stare.

The Keeper’s face, dimly lit by the night light, showed a moony state, a downright drooling expression that belied no more wit than that of an intoxicated camel. Further confounding the duo, the Keeper began to press his hand over the wall repeatedly, as if searching for something hidden on the wooden surface. Press and pry did he and he grunted and moaned like a dejected animal as he tried.

Amram and Zelikman shared a look, unsure as to whether they should feel amused, horrified, or both. Then, suddenly, a clicking sound came about-along with the Keeper’s desperate sigh of relief-and they both turned to see the wall holding the Minotaur painting, pushing in and revealing itself a secret door. From a distance, they saw the moonlight shining within, sparkling what both knew to be items of precious worth.

The Keeper fumbled inside with noticeable haste. Amram and Zelikman waited for a moment, still processing what had just occurred, only to hear a loud sniffing and snorting sound coming from inside the secret room. Then, the Keeper came out with a faint greenish, blueish glow smeared over his nose and a dumb, satisfied smile. With yet another sigh of content, the Keeper walked downstairs, leaving the door wide open.

Once the Keeper’s steps were heard no more, Amram and Zelikman, lulled by the temptation of easy wealth, entered the room. There they came upon, a veritable hoard of marvelous riches, brilliantly lit by the roof-light. Silver, gold, jewels, pelts, luxurious carpets, and many more fine goods, all piled up inside the hidden chamber. A veritable treasure hoard it was, one worthy of a monarch or of a particularly shrewd king of thieves.

Amram and Zelikman, once again, wordlessly shared their respective thoughts and began to inspect the riches surrounding them, with each one pulling out a medium cloth sack from their clothes.

“It appears that our flourishing river of good fortune has yet to run dry, eh Zelikman?” Amram whispered as he picked up a gold necklace, decorated with multiple jewels. His eyes shone with wonder. “Why, I’ll be damned, genuine Rashidun Caliphate craftsmanship! Berate the man’s theology all you want, Zelikman, you cannot deny his taste in jewelry,” he grinned and put the necklace inside the sack.

Zelikman shook his head, as he held a pair of perfectly cut, blood-red rubies. “Entirely unrelated subjects, Amram. A knack for quality thievery does not diminish the spiritual blight that is one’s animalistic beliefs, not in the slightest.” He threw the rubies inside the sack.

Amram shrugged. “Not much good thievery does for one’s soul-regardless of faith-when you begin dabbling on the subject,” he picked up a gold statuette of the Egyptian god Set. “Moral quandaries aside, these certainly make for far more durable and portable plunder, compared to period piece pots and paintings,” he chuckled, “that we can both agree on.”

“Yes, that we can, at least. Speaking of ill-gotten gains, let us fill up these bags as most we can and finish our most convenient detour. Not all the gold in the world could distract me from this tense feeling creeping up my spine, that and anymore good fortune could very well foretell our impending doom,” Zelikman said, before knotting his sack.

Amram huffed, as he also tied up his half-full bag of loot. “Honestly, Zelikman. If the powers that be grace you with an opportune feast on a silver platter, you at least show the decency to gorge yourself halfway. That way you are not drowsy enough for fate to claim your life in a cruel twist, as a spider would a fattened fly in its honeyed web. Besides, we both saw that Keeper up close. Ferocious raiders they may be in a craze, but vigilant owls at night they most certainly are not.”

“You are overdoing it with the analogies, Amram,” Zelikman retorted. “However, now that you remind me, the juxtaposition of their capabilities does not cease to boggle my mind. How does one capable of such ferocity and strength, be reduced to such an incompetent, drooling mess? It makes no logical sense! I mean, neither does the belief in their might being of divine attribution. There simply has to be an explanation, just as that faint glow on the man’s nose…”

Zelikman’s words died down, for a small desk in the middle of the room beguiled his sight. There as he approached, he saw a fine, faintly glowing powder of a green and blueish hue, contained in several small sacks, and in the largest of those was a mold of a similar light.

“What is it?” Amram asked.

Zelikman had many a hypothesis, but none too clear, given his lack of interest in the field of botany. He scrutinized the mold, without ever touching it, his wit racing to come up with a proper answer to both the riddle in his mind and his friend’s open judgment of his botanical skills.

Then, the steps returned, far more quickly than before. Unfortunately, Amram and Zelikman’s were not fast enough and the door was shut tight with a click before they even reached it. In desperation, Zelikman frantically inspected the wall, hoping to find a mechanism like the one on the other side, but found naught.

However, just as despair began to overtake the Frank, Amram, through raw force of audacity alone, knocked thrice on the wall.

“What are you-” Zelikman whispered harshly, but Amram shushed him.

The Keeper on the other side stopped walking. Then, after a pregnant pause, the man moved back towards the secret door, opened it through its mechanism, and peered his head in.

“Uh, hello?”

A furtive slice from Amram’s ax responded in kind, lopping off the Keeper’s head with ease. The head fell on the floor with a light thud, along with the crumbling, headless body of the Keeper.

Amram took a breath of relief. “Indeed, Zelikman. Sliced and felled just like any man.”

Zelikman shook his head. “That I was,” he then kicked the head away and began to drag the headless, bleeding, body away from the door. “Quick, come help me, Amram. Let us leave the corpse inside and move along, we need to be done with this before-”

Another pair of steps, three hasty ones to be exact, began to climb the stairs below, the creaking of the wooden floor growing ever louder as they approached.

“Crap,” Zelikman muttered and dropped the body, causing the footsteps to grow hastier in their ascent.

The duo left the room and ran; ran with all the might their legs and lungs could provide. Little it took them to reach the door to Callinicus’s room with their sprint; just as little did it take those three men not far behind, to reach the end of the stairs to the topmost floor.

Zelikman fumbled about with the keys he had stolen from the guard outside the manor, but Amram, taking the daring route yet again, simply turned the door handle and saw it open.

Not Amram nor Zelikman considered their surprise, at the fact that the door was somehow unlocked; they merely took their good fortune without question and entered the darkened room, closing the door behind them. The men outside had stopped, on the inspection of the blood and corpse on the floor most likely, the duo thought. That alone would give them enough time to deal with Callinicus, and afterward, use the strategic bottleneck of the door to their advantage against the guards.

Amidst the darkness and their own thoughts, neither noticed the enormous, looming shape standing right behind them.

* * *

Ariadne repeatedly tapped on her table. Hours had passed now and she had begun to worry. The worst of expectations ate away at the back of her mind. Whatever had occurred? How much longer would they take? How much longer had she to endure, before leaving it all behind and finding life once more? That and much more she pondered heavily.

Someone rapped at her door, thrice.

Without skipping a beat, Ariadne sprang up, as did her spirits, went for the door, and opened it. Her heart plummeted. Callinicus was right there, in front of her, his cheerful face ever-present. 

“Late evening, my dear Ariadne.”

Ariadne fumbled back to her table, as Callinicus entered her home. The five remaining Keepers entered along with him.

“Demetrios,” Callinicus ordered softly.

From the shadows of the night, a hulking shape hunched over and entered Ariadne’s abode. Demetrios rose to his full height, revealing a tied up, and unconscious, Amram, and Zelikman, both carried in each of his mighty arms.

Ariadne gasped. “Demetrios? What is the meaning of this?”

Demetrios said nothing, for his head hung low and his face remained expressionless as if no words could reach him. Callinicus chuckled deeply.

“Oh, it is simple, really, Ariadne dear. Demetrios is a great listener, a great one indeed. One more than capable of hiding, listening, and spreading the word of treason, for he knows better than to keep secrets from the man that brought him upon this earth, and cared for him when anyone else would have left him to rot in the sands.”

“Cared for him? You monster!” Ariadne screamed, but as she attempted to lunge at Callinicus, two of the Keepers grabbed ahold of her by the arms and pinned her to the ground. “Unhand me! Demetrios, help. Please, listen to me!” 

Callinicus patted Demetrios on the shoulder. Demetrios said nothing. “It is most wise to listen to the words of truth, in an impure world of sin and flesh, lest you let your spirit astray, wandering through a spiral of vice and treachery. Demetrios knows better, he knows the power of faith and the trust there must be in it for it to thrive. Yes, he knows better, unlike you I am afraid.”

Callinicus waved his hand and the Keepers raised Ariadne from the ground and put her face to face with the Chieftain. The man caressed Ariadne’s face, but she spat and shot him a fierce glare.

Callinicus grinned and wiped the spit off his face. “Fear not, Ariadne. I am not a man without mercy. As the voice of those most high, I will bless you and these charming strangers a parting gift, a final chance at redemption. Tomorrow night, it will not only be the chosen child, who shall walk the glorious path to eternity. She will be your guide along that dark path, a spiritual savior in your time of need.”

He closed in on Ariadne, whom the Keepers restrained with ease. “Fear not, dear Ariadne. Soon enough, it will all be over.”

Ariadne screamed.


	5. On the Gilded Grip of Blind Belief

The underground dungeon hidden beneath the Chieftain’s manor was gritty, slimy, and downright foul-smelling. Likewise, the chamber Amram, Zelikman, and Ariadne had been specifically thrown into was itself a microcosm of the place. Rusted bars, broken chains, rat droppings, and the leftover bones of some poor sod, who had likely formed part of the diet of multiple rodent generations. 

“Why did you not listen…why?” Ariadne whispered. To whom? She did not know. She had been laying down on the cold stone floor for long hours now, her hands and ankles tied up with rope. Her face was more haggard than ever, with all the remaining hope stripped out of her very being.

Amram and Zelikman, both also tied up in a similar manner, were laying on the opposite side of the dungeon, silent, bruised, and battered. Only Amram appeared to have heard Ariadne’s laments, for he shifted and grunted as if waking up from a deep slumber.

Groaning, the Abyssinian looked over to his still companion. “Zelikman?” said Amram, as he shoved his laying companion, but Zelikman did not move. Amram gasped loudly. “No…no, oh god no, Zelikman! Oh dear god!”

Broken out of her trance, Ariadne too gasped in horror and began to shriek.

Taken aback by the intense ruckus, one of the two Keepers put in charge of guarding the dungeon rooms, until the time of the ceremony, ran, and opened the jail cell. However, as the man hunched over to reach for Zelikman’s supposedly limp body, Zelikman curled up, and Amram, putting all strength in his legs, leaped and tackled the Keeper, who tripped over the Frank, and fell to the floor.

The Keeper reacted immediately, by desperately attempting to reach for something hidden in his belt pouch, but Amram did not allow him such luxuries. With raw ferocity, the Abyssinian tightly gripped the man’s neck in a chokehold, with the rope that tied his hands. After a quick, brutal struggle, Amram snapped the Keeper’s neck with a sickening crunch, and the Keeper moved no more.

Amram huffed and chuckled. “Confound me, Zelikman, I cannot believe that worked!”

“Cease your infantile musings, Amram, and help me cut off this god damn rope!” Zelikman spat back, as he unsheathed the dead Keeper’s saber with his knuckles, and began to grind the rope against its sharp edge.

Ariadne stared dumbfounded at the duo, as they worked to rid themselves of their binds. “You…you weren’t dead?” She asked.

Amram flexed his now unbound wrists and smirked. “So soon have you forgotten? We are but a pair of swindlers after all! True, Demetrios’s blows left us rather battered, but they were the perfect excuse to feign our abrupt unconsciousness. Knowing that feigning death should not come as a surprise, why, your scream was itself a most convincing addition. There is not a doubt in my mind that this little gambit of ours would not have been nearly half as successful, had it not been for your amazing performance!”

“It was genuine,” said Ariadne. Amram pursed his lips and nodded.

Zelikman glanced at Ariadne, as he cut the remainder of the rope binding Amram’s legs. “Well it worked, did it not?” He then passed the Saber on to Amram. “Make haste, my ankles are killing me.”

Ariadne fell silent, as her gaze once more drifted off into the walled horizon. 

“Is something wrong?” Amram asked as he cut the rope with the saber, all the while ignoring Zelikman’s constant complaints about the tightness of the bindings.

Ariadne’s eyes began to water. “I-It’s…,” she stopped, and turned her head sharply at the entrance of the cell, as did Amram, and the still foot-bound Zelikman.

The other Keeper was standing there, mouth agape, holding a modest lunch tray of a single loaf of stale bread, and three opaque cups of grey-looking water. The man dropped the bronze tray and began to scramble for the contents of his belt pouch, but Zelikman, infuriated at the confluence of Amram’s intentionally slow rope cutting, the pain in his ankles, and the mediocrity of their intended last meal, swiped the saber away from the Abyssinian’s hands and flung it at the Keeper with surprising strength.

The Keeper, grasping at the saber that pierced his bleeding throat, gurgled blood, and crumpled to the floor. Nonchalantly, Amram went over, removed the stuck saber from the Keeper’s neck, and resumed the cutting of Zelikman’s binds. 

Zelikman gave him a flat stare. “Must you use the bloodied one?”

“Only the best for you, my dearest friend,” Amram grinned sweetly.

Ariadne mumbled unintelligibly at the sight of bloodshed before her and continued to do so, once Amram too began to undo her bindings, though this time the Abyssinian opted to use a blood-less throwing dagger, which he had drawn from one of the Keeper’s corpses. Naturally, Zelikman muttered his own set of unintelligible comments at that fact, which Amram promptly ignored.

After a series of loud, popping stretches-and a couple of more muted complains-Zelikman let out a gasp of relief and began to inspect the bodies of the fallen Keepers, with utmost scrutiny. “…I see. It is just as I suspected.”

“What?” Amram asked absentmindedly, as he continued his rope cutting duties.

“A ground powder, made from a mold-like plant component of unknown origin, possessing of glowing green and blueish hue. The exact same hue, in fact, like the one that was smeared all over the nose of the man you beheaded a short while ago,” said Zelikman.

Amram gave him a knowing look. “A plant component of unknown-”

“Not a word,” Zelikman interrupted before his companion could have commented further on his botanical non-expertise. “Can you not see what this means. Whatever this foul powder and its source material may be, it must have unique properties, and through the mere process of elimination-considering how desperate these cutthroats were to reach for it, rather than their weapons-it must be the sole logical reason as to why-”

“So they drugged themselves with the powder, and therefore gained inhuman strength? Is that correct?” Amram interrupted.

Zelikman grumbled. “To put it bluntly, yes”

“Well, that explains the camel-like drool spilling from that Keeper’s lip. Poppy is destructive enough as it is, now imagine yourself sniffing a ground, a powdered mold of _unknown_ origin,” Amram smirked at Zelikman, as he finished cutting the rest of Ariadne’s binds. He then helped her up, for her legs still trembled. “So, what were you saying just now?”

Ariadne struggled to come up with the right words. The bloodshed she had to now grow accustomed to, the unlikely revelation of the Keeper’s true source of their power, all muddled her troubled thoughts, but out of everything, one conflicted feeling rang the truest. Ariadne’s eyes began to water. “Demetrios. I tried to reason with him for so long, and he was right there, entirely under Callinicus’s control, entirely beyond my reach.”

Amram’s face softened. “Demetrios is a kind soul, Ariadne, but he is held tight by the iron grip of a man, whom destiny cruelly assigned as his father, and so-called caretaker. It is not that your words could not reach him, trust me, your voice alone must have shaken the kind giant, but it is that iron grip, that chain of a man, we must break. Won’t we, Zelikman?”

Zelikman feigned indignity. “Honestly, Amram, you would do us all a favor, if you curbed your optimism. We’d be far better off reclaiming our steeds, and leaving this entire place behind us, while we still have the chance anyway,” he smirked. “However, I do suppose we do have enough time for a little detour, that, and we’ve yet to deliver Callinicus his well-deserved parting gift.”

“But how are you planning on doing so? The festival is nearly underway. He will most _definitely_ notice his two missing Keepers and ourselves as well. Not only that, _everyone_ will be there. How do you plan to end his life, amidst the watchful eyes of the _entire_ village?” bellowed Ariadne, her voice shaky and uneven.

Amram and Zelikman shared a look. They glanced towards the laying, ceremonially clothed bodies of the Keepers, and smiled.

Amram frowned in thought. “Callinicus would not mind it if either of us were gone beforehand, truth be told, be it from a Keeper’s wish for revenge, or a premature death caused by Demetrio’s blows,” his eyes glinted mischievously. “You, on the other hand, are the centerpiece of his vile wishes. It would be _your_ absence that would alarm him.”

Ariadne’s face fell. “What?”

“Downright devilish, Amram,” Zelikman chuckled, and gestured towards Ariadne. “Worry not. No harm will come to you, nor will good Callinicus grow alarmed whatsoever, for we are to do exactly as he told.”

* * *

The flame of the chosen’s torch burned bright in the night, lit by Callinicus’s own. It burned as bright as the cheers and chants of the masked village folk, a cacophony of indoctrinated platitudes best left undescribed. There they all gathered in devout anticipation, near the entrance of the large cave in the seaside cliff, waiting for the moment where their yearly chosen would leave this sinful, material world behind, and enter the pathway to eternity.

Callinicus silenced the crowd with a wave. There he stood behind the opened cave and the large stone beside it. Behind him were his three Keepers, masked and wearing their ceremonial attire, and the chosen, her face brimming with joy, as she held both the torch and the rose of selection.

Callinicus lowered his hand and bowed. “My children, the time is nigh. Soon our years blessed will embark on her holy journey to the path beyond. Let this be a moment joy-” he stopped. His gaze focused on the skirt of the cliff below.

Murmurs came about, as the crowd turned to see the reason why Callinicus had halted his glorious, ceremonial speech. There she was, Ariadne, escorted by two Keepers of the Faith. The comments continued, far more harshly this time, but no one dared object or speak aloud, for Callinicus spoke nothing of this interference, and as the village knew, Callinicus always knew best. 

Callinicus bowed at Ariadne as she arrived, showing the ghost of a smirk. Ariadne showed no emotion at this, and that pleased the Chieftain greatly. With her positioned by the two Keepers, Callinicus turned back towards the crowd and began his speech anew.

However, he could go no further than the first syllable, for the sounds of cleaves, stabs, dying breaths, and the crowds horrified gasps and screams, interrupted him without fail. Frantically, Callinicus turned back, and saw his three keepers, lying dead on the floor, and the remaining two, who had brought Ariadne, wielding a bloodied ax, and a most unusual, modified bloodletting lancet, the culprits of the bloodshed.

“Three and three, Zelikman. It appears that we are in dire need of a tiebreaker,” said Amram, before unveiling himself, and throwing the mask away.

Zelikman nodded, as he too revealed himself, cleaned the blood off his lancet with the mask, and promptly threw the ceremonial garment aside. “That it would appear so.”

Callinicus almost stumbled backward, but through sheer force of will-and, the maniacal need to maintain appearances-he stood his ground. The chosen girl ran to his side, whimpering, and cowered behind him. He grasped her hand tenderly, easing the girl’s horror at the bloodied strangers, and the massacre before them.

However, the duo moved not an inch. Instead, Ariadne walked forward, her expressionless being doing little to hide the fierceness of her approach. “I will speak my mind now, and I will end this. If you could be so kind as to grant me the honors.”

Callinicus gave her a solemn look, and remained so for a short pause, before bowing and gesturing her to follow through. Ariadne did not bow back in return.

She looked towards the crowd. There was not a whisper. “My people! I know I am but a pariah to you, an outcast set aside by the words of many, but it is in this state of exclusion that one’s finds the glaring truths; those truths most prefer to ignore, in order to live in bliss. Your so-called savior and speaker of those most high is naught, but a fiend! The strength supposedly granted by the heavens, to the now-departed keepers, a sham, product of a mundane substance!”

In cue, Amram and Zelikman quickly undid the belts from the lying Keepers, and threw the contents over the floor, spreading the lightly glowing powder over the stone and sand, bits of which flew off with the coastal winds. The whispering returned.

“And now you may ask; what about the blessings of prosperity that came upon us, ever since we became faithful to the word of _those_ most high?”

Amram and Zelikman threw two cloth sacks over the floor, spilling many of the riches that were hidden away in the Chieftain’s manor.

“Banditry, murder, and theft! It was through bloodied coin that Callinicus 'revived' our village, not through the blessings of any gods above,” Ariadne’s voice grew shaky. “It was through all these lies that he fooled you, all of you, into giving away child after child, year after year; for no more reason than to revel in the drunken sense of power, such words granted him! There is no path to eternity! There is _nothing_ inside that cave, but the remains of those you have sent to their graves!”

The crowd’s murmuring died down, yet again. Ariadne took a deep breath. “But it is not too late. We can still right our wrongs. We can still start anew. Our fate is in our hands. We can band together, and break the chains imposed upon us by this foul beast of a man. Let us band together, my people, let us fight for our freedom!”

For a moment, not a soul spoke. Only the coastal waves and the cold night winds resounded throughout the crowded cliff. Ariadne stood firm, her raised fist frozen in an attempt to rile the fire of her people’s will. Amram and Zelikman shared a nervous glance.

Then, the people began their approach. Their silence became whispers, their whispers a muted chant, and from that chant, came a song, sung in chilling unison. Their masked faces hampered not their emotions, for the legion of their voices was more than enough. In this song, as little by little they made their way to the top of the cliff, they proclaimed an unbreakable faith and clamored for the punishment of the infidels.

“Stop!” Callinicus shouted. The crowd obeyed, ceasing their enraged cry for comeuppance.

Ariadne, Amram, and Zelikman were still with shock, with the Frank shooting the Abyssinian a harsh, incriminating glare.

Callinicus looked straight into Ariadne’s eyes, his expression solemn, but his eyes reveling with glee. “Show them not the same bloodshed they have inflicted, nor will you punish them for the sinful lies they have spouted. Forgiveness my children, it is through forgiveness alone that we raise our souls closer to the good graces of those most high. Let us bless these infidels with forgiveness, by granting them a final chance at redemption,” he patted the chosen girl’s shoulder. The crowd looked at one another and began to voice their disbelief.

Callinicus waved his hand and hushed the worried whispers. “Our forgiveness will not grant them the ease from the god’s punishment, for that is beyond our jurisdiction. It is merely a way to reinforce our faith, and so, it will be through this final test, guided by the light of our chosen, that these infidels will either perish in the brimstone of eternity or find the true path, to rise to the heavens above.”

The mob swarmed the trio and seized Amram and Zelikman of their weapons without trouble, for both knew better than to test their fortune any further. As the villagers restrained them, Zelikman never once stopped glaring in Amram’s direction, who on the other hand, feigned ignorance of the Frank’s existence.

Callinicus patted the chosen girl’s shoulder. “Follow the path that calls to you, my dear, worry not about them. If the gods will it so, they too shall find the way.” She nodded firmly and went inside the darkened cave.

Soon after the girl’s light began to fade away in the darkness, Callinicus gave the order, and the crowd pushed and threw Amram, Zelikman and Ariadne inside. The boulder, pushed by more than a dozen grown men, little by little stole away whatever moonlight crept inside the cavernous walls; all the while the rest of the village folk guarded the entrance.

The trio watched powerless, as the boulder ground on the floor, eating away at the last shred of light from the outside, and right before the opening was blocked out entirely, they saw Callinicus’s eyes, bearing down on them. They were cold, and gleeful, the eyes of a man to whom revenge is a pleasure beyond compare. They were the eyes of a monster, and darkness followed with him.


	6. On Retributions and Unsung Promises

The group moved about in the darkness of the cavern, carefully using the walls to give themselves a sense of reference and space, for they saw nothing beyond the tip of their own noses. A short while had passed since the entrance had been blocked off from the outside, and so, without anything else to lose, they began to meander, in the search of the torch-bearing girl, and another possible exit, hidden somewhere throughout the series of labyrinthine tunnels. That they hoped at least. 

Zelikman, feeling a light heaviness in his head, fumbled and nearly fell over, but caught himself just in time. He huffed.

“See what happens Amram?”

“I cannot see much of anything, Zelikman,” Amram responded flatly, though not out of sarcastic wit, he too felt a weight bearing down on his mind.

Zelikman scoffed. “This is no time for your play on words. I told you our good fortune would run dry eventually, and it did! I was right, I always am, but you never listen, do you, Amram?” he sighed. “At least those pagan savages had the decency to leave my hat untouched.”

Amram snorted. “Joy, Zelikman. Could it be possible for us to inquire on the whereabouts of the missing child-and the general mapping of this cavernous maze-to this oh, so precious hat of yours?”

“Really? So soon have you given in to the claustrophobic craze?” Zelikman sniffed. “Well, best we make haste then; otherwise I’ll have to drag a blabbering man-child around with me. You could do well by following Ariadne’s example. She knows not to mince words.”

Amram shook his head. “Zelikman, please, you saw what just occurred out there, must you be so inconsiderate? Can you imagine how Ariadne must be feeling right now?” he whispered and looked back. He did not know why, since there was nothing to look back to in the pitch-black darkness, but he did so anyway. “I beg your pardon. He meant no offense.”

Complete and utter silence.

Amram stopped. “Ariadne?”

Zelikman stopped and looked back as well. “Where is she, Amram?”

At that moment of mutual doubt, neither spoke nor moved. Both then realized, Ariadne’s steps were not there, nor had they been for quite some time. Suddenly, a heavy shuffling and clacking on the rocks broke them out of their late realization. Something of enormous size was there in the caves with them, not far from where they were.

“Did you hear that?” asked Amram, with the slightest shake to his tone.

Zelikman chuckled forcefully. “Cavernous claustrophobia-and a slight lack of air-performing their mundane trickeries, Amram, nothing more. Come let us go ahead and search for Ariadne, she cannot be far-”

It roared. The inhumane sound resonated throughout the tunnels, sending shivers down the duo’s spines, and raising the hairs on the back of their necks. It continued on, for no more than a few seconds, but that alone was enough. They ran.

The duo scrambled through the twisting tunnels, insidious intersections, and confounding corridors, with no more than each other’s breaths, and the slippery rock walls acting as their guide, the latter on which they slammed themselves on multiple occasions. The clacking of stone and the monstrous growls followed at every turn, grunting and snarling. They knew not how far away it was, or what it was exactly, nor did they want to know, but deep down they knew; it was following them with terrifying ease, for it knew the maze-like the back of one’s hand.

Such was the unholy mixture of terror, blindness, shortness of breath, and a mysteriously foggy mind, that the duo ended up separating in the maze-like complex. Shout out for one another they did, as they made their best efforts to keep their distance from the unknown creature. However, it moved with such fluidity-in spite of the size of its roar and footsteps implied-and had such an inert knowledge of the confounding caves; that it kept trail of them both, hounding at their heels with unrelenting persistence.

Amram and Zelikman’s desperation began to overcome them. They did not know how much longer they could keep on going, to escape the horror that followed without pause. The growing weariness of their minds and bodies was taking its toll, and with it, the sense of inevitability that eventually they would fall prey, to the thing that lurked in the shadows. That is, until they slammed on each other, and fell to the ground.

The Frank and the Abyssinian groaned from the impact, but the familiar sounds of their voices immediately recovered their lost stamina. They got up and began to pat one another as if to confirm they were not facing-albeit in total darkness-a hallucination born of madness, and stagnant air.

“Heavens above, Zelikman, you’re alive!” said Amram, before quieting down for a moment. “Or is this hell?”

“Of course it is not, you fool, and of course I am alive. How else could I be speaking to you right now,” Zelikman shot back, but his voice was that of pure happiness. He touched the top of his head and felt a surge of relief as he caressed the hat above it. “Oh, thank god, it’s still there.”

Amram laughed but paused abruptly. “Zelikman, can you not hear? It is gone! No longer does it hound or track us, whatever it was. Do you believe that, perhaps, it was naught, but the trickery of the mind?”

“For once I want to concur with your optimism, Amram, but regardless, we cannot falter, nor can we let ourselves astray again. We have pushed the odds far too much now,” Zelikman chided, but then, a smell caught his attention. “Wait…do you smell that? Faint smoke…burnt wood…going all the way down there.”

“A torch! Zelikman, it must be the leftover smoke of the girl’s torch, you know what this means!”

“We’ve yet to find Ariadne, and an exit out of this accursed labyrinth? And the fact that we might just be afflicted by some sort of cave-induced lunacy?”

“Oh, how I missed you so, during those grueling, unquantifiable moments of pure craze.” Amram teased, but both knew his words to be genuine.

“The feeling is mutual, old friend,” and so were Zelikman’s.

Time went along-without any signs of the unknown creature-as the duo continued their way through the tunnels, following the ever-stronger scent of smoke, until something incredible occurred. A faint green blueish glow began to illuminate the path around them, covering every stone and crevice of the walls, which on close inspection revealed itself a glowing, slimy moss, creeping on the rocks. The connections drawn out from this sent a shiver down the Frank and the Abyssinian’s spine, but they soldiered on regardless, making sure to touch the walls no more.

However, that harrowing realization alone was not the last thing that awaited Amram and Zelikman, for not much later, the sound of sniffs and whimpers, coming from the very end of the tunnel, echoed in their ears. It was Ariadne. They sped through the remainder of the glowing corridor and saw an opening to a large chamber, where the fluorescent light was stronger than ever, as were Ariadne’s soul-rending wails.

The chamber welcomed them, and Amram and Zelikman’s veins froze. Strangers they were not to the horrors of combat, war, theft, and all that it implied, but that sight before them, they would never forget. Bones big and small spread out all over the floor of the circular, clean-cut chamber, in a showing of macabre, unlike anything they had ever seen. Ariadne lay on her knees near one of the piles of bones, her hands covering her face, while the girl, her torch burned out, on the ground beside her, simply stood still in the middle of the chamber.

After taking it all in, Amram and Zelikman slowly moved towards Ariadne. They did not know what they could do or tell her but at this point, what else was there to do?

They stopped halfway, for a loud, bull-like snort brought them, and everyone else inside, out of their shock, and made them look toward the entrance of the chamber. It was no hallucination, and it was horrifying. It stood taller than Amram, and far wider still, for it could be no man. Only in its enormous, corpulent body was it in any way, shape, or form resembling the human physique. Its head, gnarled and twisted, was that of a horned beast. Its eyes, empty and black, were hell itself.

It charged. Amram and Zelikman snapped out of their stupor, leaped out of the way in the nick of time, but the monster made a sharp turn and lunged. Using every bit of adrenaline and strength in their bodies, Amram and Zelikman dodged the close-fisted blows of the beast, blows that, despite its barehanded nature, could tear flesh as a hot knife could cold butter.

The desperate struggle between men and monster went on for a short moment, with Ariadne and the girl huddling together, terrified, at the edges of the chamber. Eventually, the beast roared, its frustration at the evasiveness of its prey clear in its anger. It crouched and charged, faster than before, its steps fueled by rage, as it attempted to ram and smear the Frank and the Abyssinian over the rock walls. 

Amram and Zelikman jumped yet again, this time by a hair’s breadth, but their narrow escape turned beneficial, for the beast smashed headfirst on the stone, shaking the entirety of the chamber. The beast, its face bent at an irregular angle, let out a faint groan as it rose from the floor, but the young girl’s scream and whimpers snapped it out of its daze.

In a sudden movement, the beast charged Ariadne and the girl. Neither Amram nor Zelikman could react fast enough to come to their aid, nor had they the power to subdue the creature, which shoved them aside for their efforts. They screamed for Ariadne to get out of harm’s way, but she did not. As the monster lunged, Ariadne pushed the girl aside.

Ariadne had saved the girl’s life, and in one, crushing strike, hers was forfeit. Amram and Zelikman strayed their sight away. The young girl ran up to Amram and clung to him, who instinctively picked her up and guarded her in his arms.

The remaining three stood there, watching the creature, as it stood mysteriously frozen in place. Little by little, they began to retreat to the entrance, when suddenly, the creature, in a voice unfittingly light and human for its size, began to wail erratically, as if broken out of its maddening, bloodthirsty trance. The cry cut through bone with its intensity, and what followed shook Amram, Zelikman, and the girl to their very core.

Demetrios’s crooked face, smeared in a green, blueish glow, no longer hidden away by the twisted bull mask laying on the floor, stared back at them with whitish, ghost-like pupils. Tears overflew his cheeks as he looked back, and then, after a fleeting moment of humanity, his face grew twisted and enraged. It roared.

The chase ensued, with the beast not far behind. No longer were Amram and Zelikman illuminated by the glow of the cavern moss, but somehow, this did not impede them, nor did they stumble, or had to check on the nearby walls. Neither could explain it. Was it their subconscious memory of the maze, drawn upon by a life or death situation, or was it a guiding force, as both felt it at that very moment, with voices and ghostly sights by the corner of their eyes? Whatever it was, it worked. The blocked entrance was right ahead.

“Ready?” Amram asked as he shielded the girl’s head.

“Whenever you are!” Shouted Zelikman.

The beast roared and leaped. They jumped aside.

* * *

The large wooden effigy burned and crackled, and the village folk sang proudly, with their beloved leader acting as their conductor. Callinicus had ordered his loyal followers to raise the hollow statue, not long after closing off the infidels inside the holy pathway. It was another sacrifice meant for the occasion, more overt in a way, but then again, people had far fewer qualms about the offering of livestock to the greater forces.

How he cherished these moments of pure adoration, and how he lamented that he had to wait a whole year to relive them every time. A distasteful feeling grew on him as the crowd finished the last verse of the chant, but he kept on smiling and pushed it aside. He could wait, he always did. He was a patient man.

He would create a new force of Keepers, all thanks to the miraculous substance that grew inside the caves, and he would start anew. Was it not a miracle, to use what this sinful world granted you, to grant miracles by your own hand? To take in order to feed those loyal? To Callinicus these were not questions without an answer, for he knew it firsthand, and as long as the gods kept him anchored in this form of flesh, he would continue to do so. After all, what is sin, but a mere stain when performed in the name of righteousness, and the will of those most high?

The boulder behind him shook, and the crowd gasped. Callinicus’s eyes went wide, but he maintained his ground nonetheless. It shook again. His legs trembled. Then, it shook no more, and Callinicus began to pray, in thanks of those above.

The boulder moved aside, and the beast appeared from the darkness. The village folk screamed and scattered. Callinicus froze in fear, and the last thing he saw, was the bloodied, hulking shape looming over before it released a deafening roar and tore him apart.

* * *

Amidst the chaos, Amram and Zelikman had recovered their weapons, fetched their corralled steeds, and snatched whatever provisions they could find. They cared not for the rest of the riches hidden away at the top of the Chieftain’s manse, nor for the ones scattered near the man’s remains. Amram had left the girl somewhere safe in the village square, but that was now a complete pandemonium, for many of the villagers had taken arms and headed back, to kill the rampaging beast, in vengeance of their murdered leader.

Now atop the sandy hill, with a days’ worth of rations and water, and the view of the burning village beneath them, neither could speak. Amram and Zelikman shared a solemn look, and galloped off into the distance, hoping that one day the road would make them forget. Both knew it never did.


End file.
